


Never a Good Sign

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Nick/Greg Ficlets [14]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Episode: s07e04 Fannysmackin', M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-23 20:07:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20209378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: from anon on tumblr: I wish you would write a fic where Nick first heard/reacts to Greg being one of the victims in fannysmackin' because that thought has me all 👀





	Never a Good Sign

It was his night off. His first night off, in a substantially long time. He was plagued by insomnia, fighting nightmares left and right–not even nightmares about the incident two summers ago, other horrific, vivid nightmares that kept him up. He was at a point where he couldn’t even eat a plate of spaghetti without seeing the tomato sauce as blood.

He needed a break, so he took it. Grissom understood, hell, even encouraged it–which was weird, coming from the boss man himself, but he had been a bit more…happier, as of late. Nick didn’t mind, in the end, and was enjoying a documentary on the migration patterns of birds when his doorbell rang. 

It was early in the morning, far too early for anybody to be at his door. 

He moved as silently as he could to his front door, peered through the hole. His fingers wrapped themselves around the gun that he had picked up out of instinct–a gun he had hidden in a secret compartment in his coffee table.

He never had too much company over these days, anyway.

Through the hole, he saw the face of Warrick Brown, who was getting ready to knock on the door, when Nick twisted the handle.

“It’s me, man, open–oh. Hey.”

Warrick’s eyes were bloodshot, the bags sagging his skin a bit heavier than usual. He seemed agitated, like he had just gotten out of a heated argument with someone.

“Hey, bro…what’s, uh, what’s going on?”

“Listen…I know it’s your night off…”

_Never a good sign_.

“And this, uh…this wouldn’t have been right…over a phone call.”

“Okay?” 

Nick gestured for the man to come in, but Warrick waved him off. Nick cocked his head in question, but Warrick had closed his eyes and gulped down whatever he was about to say.

“Is everything all right, man?”

“The beatings, you might have seen on the news–It’s…Sanders, he…he’s in the hospital.”

Nick’s grip on the door handle tightened so intensely that his knuckles were about to pop. He felt the vein in his neck throb against his skin, his teeth clenched together. A slow, deep exhale escaped his body, as he fought to keep control against every instinct telling him to find whoever put him in the hospital and rip them apart with his bare hands. 

“Grissom was gonna call you, but I figured you’d want to hear for yourself…I’m heading over to the scene now, for processing, you know. Figured you’d want in.”

“Yeah…just–just give me a minute.”

Warrick nodded and Nick spun around to go collect his things, slamming the door behind him. He didn’t even register, how his fist rose up past his chest and rocketed towards the wall. He didn’t feel the sting, as his skin cracked open, didn’t feel the blood trickle between his fingers as his hand flopped back to his side. 

He washed his hands, changed his shirt, collected his backpack, and opened the front door a minute later.

“Let’s go,” Nick grunted as he adjusted the strap on his bag. Warrick had just barely gotten a look into Nick’s home before he slammed the door; there was now a large hole on the side of his wall. 


End file.
